


It's Not Just Sentimental

by salvadore



Category: Social Network (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-20
Updated: 2011-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-31 04:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salvadore/pseuds/salvadore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Jonh Hughes-style; Dustin is the Duckie to Mark's Andie, only this time Duckie gets his girl. Or rather computer geek with curly hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Just Sentimental

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty in Pink AU for rosepetalfall on LJ with Dustin as Duckie and Mark as Andie, and no one gets hurt. Lyrics from Night & Day by Ella Fitzgerald.

Dustin sighs wistfully, turning on his back to stare up at the underside of his best friend's chin. Mark is studiously going over Dustin's essay on Russian History, so deep in thought that his tongue has slipped free of his lips to poke out. He's wearing one of the second-hand sweaters Dustin got him for Hanukkah with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows, and it takes a lot of restraint on Dustin's part not to just lean up and kiss Mark's cheek. Or his temple. Or even the hand that is beside Dustin's head, the one that Mark is using to keep himself upright. Instead, Dustin distracts himself by clicking the heels of his once-white loafers together while he waits for Mark to break the silence.

“Dustin, this is terrible,” Mark says bluntly as he gives up and tosses both his pen and the essay away from him. Dustin watches his paper flutter off to the side where it, presumably, crumbles and folds against the carpet, out of sight. The pen vaults over the foot of the bed in a swan dive for the carpet.

Dustin looks back up at Mark when he hears his name being called. Mark is calling to him in what Dustin fondly calls Mark's “disappointed girlfriend voice.” When he looks up, sure enough, the thin veneer of Mark's disinterest is punctured by a fond disappointment, the slightest twitch of his lips and the faint smile lines at his eyes. Dustin points this out in the hopes of earning a smile. He gets a roll of the eyes, which really isn't nearly enough.

“You're not an idiot, Dustin. I don't understand why you would act like one.”

Dustin nearly bursts out in apologies at the sight of Mark rubbing wearily at his eyes because it is so freaking heartrending. But then Dustin remembers _Eduardo Saverin_ and feels uncharacteristically lacking of charity.

“I don't see what is so wrong about it,” Dustin feigns.

“The Russian Revolution didn't start in Germany.”

“But that guy Marx!” Dustin exclaims, faking sincerity. Mark grins at him then and Dustin can't help thinking that it is the most gorgeous thing he has ever seen.

“Fuck off, Dustin.”

Dustin giggles and watches Mark bite at his bottom lip to stop a smiling from breaking out across his lips. Reaching out and snagging a loose thread between his thumb and forefinger, Dustin tugs at Mark's sweater. He toys with it while he makes a pouty face with his lower lip sticking out a bit. He wants to ask Mark about _Saverin_ and how Mark could stoop so low and have feelings for a richie. Especially one who doesn't deserve Mark's attention.

“I'm going to the kitchen,” Mark says, batting Dustin's hand away and pushing him onto his back. It's Mark-speak for _“would you like anything?”_ and its the closest to being a host that Mark is capable of. It makes Dustin smile as he watches Mark stand up beside the twin-size bed.

“Yeah, a scotch, whiskey, juice box or whatever,” Dustin says with a shrug. He earns another roll of Mark's eyes, then he watching Mark tuck his left hand into the pocket of his corduroys and wander out to the hall. Dustin listens until he hears Mark's socked footsteps fade down the stares before he rolls up from the bed. He stares blankly at the cluttered walls – the result of him pasting up movie posters and magazine cut-outs and scraps of paper, not Mark who couldn't careless – while his heart stutters and races because of Mark's smile.

“I love that boy,” Dustin breathes out into the air of Mark's bedroom, sounding bewildered. “I love that boy and I just, I have to tell him.”

Dustin looks at the poster of Harrison Ford and asks, “Right? Even if he laughs?”

He staggers to his feet and stumbles over to Mark's desk, which is barely visible under the computer parts. Dustin picks up a mouse as he goes around the room, already humming under his breath as he swings the mouse by its cord. He swings it around three times before he catches it in his left hand.

“ _Night and Day,_ ” Dustin croons. He breathes in, then fakes the sound of a cheering crowd. “Thank you, thank you its lovely to be here with you tonight.”

Dustin turns toward the Ford poster again and says, “You look lovely tonight.

“ _You are the one. Only you beneath the moon and under the sun_.”

Dustin waltzes around the dirty clothing as he sings dramatically. “ _Whether near to me or far, its no matter, dear where you are, I think of you-_ ”

Dustin dances around the room, serenading the celebrities staring out at him from the posters. At one point he picks up one of Mark's discarded sweaters from the floor and swings it around his shoulders so the sleeves wrap around his neck like a scarf.

“ _'til you let me spend my life making love to you, and_ only _yoooooouuuu_ ,” Dustin trails off in front of Mark's large, bay windows. Its dark outside already and the lamps light Mark's room turn the paneled windows into a mirror, reflecting Dustin's red-cheeked and disheveled self back.

“Oh god,” Dustin squeaks at himself. He nearly drops the mouse with a clatter to the floor as he says, stricken, to his reflection, “He's going to laugh at me.”

He nearly throws himself bodily into Mark's bed at the agony of it. Involuntarily, Dustin thinks of Mark's pink cheeks when he conspiratorially (well, the secretive and conspiratory manner was all in Dustin's head, but still) told Dustin about what had happened in the library with _Eduardo_. Dustin wanted to puke with the familiarity of it all.

“Stupid, Saverin. He probably thinks his computer trick was clever. Ooh look, I can make our pictures appear on a computer like magic,” Dustin says to his reflection with air quotes and a mocking toss of his hair. His pout comes back in full-force as he gripes, “More like hoaky, you cheeseball.”

He paces the carpet, dragging one hand through his hair and completely ruining his Flock of Seagulls look. The stiff gel makes him grit his teeth as he gets his fingers stuck in his hair. He just doesn't get it and its so frustrating.

When he hears Mark coming up the stairs, Dustin falters and then makes a mad rush for the bed. He trips over Mark's barely used textbooks where they are piled on the floor and takes a nose dive into the mattress. He breathes in against the quilt before rolling hastily over and trying to smile innocently up at Mark, when he wanders through the door.

“What were you doing?”

“Nothing,” Dustin lies. Mark gives him an appraising look before shrugging it off and tossing Dustin his juice box. Dustin fumbles with it while Mark moves back to the bed. Trying to distract himself with the plastic straw just gives Dustin more time to think about Saverin and Parker, and all of those richie who don;t deserve Mark's smile. Worst of all is when Dustin's mind wanders to Mark and Saverin kissing. He literally jumps up from the bed.

“Dustin?”

“I – I have to go. Home.”

“What about your paper,” Mark asks. And he's frowning. Dustin's stomach sinks at the sight of it because what he hates most, more than the richies and Saverin's stupid hair, is Mark frowning. It reminds him too much of when Mark's mom ran off three years ago and Mark had spent months trying to hide how sad it made him.  
“I should really do it at home. If you help me it'll be like I didn't do the work which is completely against the school's code of ethics, you know.” Dustin talks to fast and his attempt at a smile fits falsely on his face.

He scrambles for the door, but is not fast enough. Mark catches his wrist before he makes it out into the hall. Dustin gulps at the feeling of Mark's fingers on his skin. Its better than shuddering, Dustin thinks as he stares at Mark's thin, long fingers.

“What's going on?”

“Don't, don't go out with Saverin. Eduardo,” Dustin amends. He is as red as his hair and he stares at the carpet to avoid meeting Mark’s eyes. To anyone else those would be cues to let it go, but Mark makes it a habit to ignore social niceties whenever possible. Normally Dustin finds it endearing, now it makes him want to crawl in a hole and die.

“What does Wardo have to do with anything?”

Dustin blanches.

Staring wide-eyed at Mark, Dustin has to clench his teeth to stop from screaming as he says, “'Wardo'?! Mark, it took two years for you to start calling me 'Dustin' instead of 'Jason.' Its been a day and _Saverin_ already has a nickname? He's _WARDO_ now?!”

Mark draws back like he has been hit. His eyes are widened significantly by Mark standards and it hurts Dustin to look at him.

“I just. Why him?” Dustin knows he sounds pathetic, pleading as he is, but he doesn't care. In a matter of hours some richie who hadn't seemed to notice Mark before today had changed everything. If Dustin thought he mattered to anyone other than Mark, he would say it was an attempt to ruin his life. Except, Dustin thinks as he tugs morosely at the sleeves of his blue blazer, Mark is the only one who has ever truly noticed him.

“I wish,” Dustin starts because there is too much silence and dead air between him and Mark now and he needs to fill it. His voice dies out, but he clears it with a cough into his fist. “I wish we could just go away together. Take a weekend away and just, fish or something.”

“I hate fishing.”

Dustin chuckles and shakes his head, but he doesn't lift it to look at Mark.

Which is irritating enough that Mark makes a high, whiny sound of frustration. Dustin looks up then, surprised, and freezes when he meets Mark's eyes. With his blue eyes narrowed in a scrutinizing way Mark glares back at him.

“You know I hate double talk. Its frustrating and point less. If you have something to say just say it.”

“I don't like the idea of you dating Ed _uardo_!”

“But why?” Mark shouts. He makes that same frustrated whine at the back of his throat. The lines of Mark's forehead stand out starkly as he stuffs both hands into his pockets.

“Because I like you,” Dustin shouts before he can stop himself.

As soon as the words are out Dustin wants them back. He sinks back against the door, having know idea when he stepped away from it. He slouches, toeing the carpet and mirroring Mark with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Why didn't you just say something?”

“You make it sound simple,” Dustin mutters. His eyes hurt and he thinks he might cry.

“It is simple.”

Dustin looks at him and, in a disbelieving tone, asks, “I should just ask you out? Just like that?”

Mark shrugs and feigns indifference. Dustin knows it's an act because Mark is ducking his head and shuffling his feet. There is a surge of something warm, like hope, in Dustin's chest.

“Mark, would you like to go out sometime? Preferably tomorrow?”

“I have to close up shop for Chris tomorrow, but after that -” Mark trails off with another shrug.

“I know the Hughes-a-nator isn't particularly fond of me, but would he mind if I picked you up from his establishment at the end of work?”

Mark makes a sound that sounds like a giggle. But it is soft and smothered by the way Mark is chewing on his lower lip. Like Mark is a magnet and Dustin is flimsy pin or a paper clip, Dustin is moving away from the door toward Mark.

“Chris would like you better if you stopped calling him “Hughes-a-nator.” And if you stopped setting off the fire alarm.”

Dustin shrugs because, honestly, he could careless about Mark's boss right now. He is less than two feet from Mark and Mark is grinning so broadly that Dustin can see his dimples.

“Would I be imposing on your propriety if I asked to make-out with you on your bed,” Dustin asks, speaking an octave lower and pushing back his hair in an attempt at smooth, as he speaks. Mark rolls his eyes but Dustin doesn't feel it as an attack on his ego, not when he isn't the only one reaching out for a touch.

“So weird,” Mark mumbles. Then he has fingers on Dustin's tie and is drawing Dustin toward him as he backs up toward the bed. He's biting at his lip in that way that makes Dustin stare, that way that makes Dustin want to taste Mark's lips. And, oh god, Dustin is in so much trouble because he _loves_ this boy. So much.


End file.
